


Softly, Slowly

by ColdBookWorm



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Feels, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Light Angst, Lots of kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Service top!Arthur Morgan, procrastination fic, this is basically 3k words of albert and arthur fucking in a hotel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 10:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdBookWorm/pseuds/ColdBookWorm
Summary: This thing that they share... He knows it's not going to last. Arthur knows the pain he's setting them both up for when he inevitably has to leave again. But just for now... He chooses to be selfish. To indulge in the saccharine sweet comfort that Albert softens his heart with. Shadowed by the knowledge of their impermanence, with all that was left unspoken between them, he nuzzles a little closer, holds him a little tighter. And that night, as they lie in a small rented room, Valentine bustling about below them, he listens to Albert's heart pulsing beside him and lets the love in his chest lull him to sleep.//In which Arthur meets up with Albert Mason again, this time with a bed and distinct lack of predators trying to eat them. Thoroughly doused with patented Plot B Gone®





	Softly, Slowly

**_Valentine_ **

He _moves_ against him, soft and careful, and Albert wants to tell him that he doesn't have to be so _tender_ , doesn't have to be so nice about it because _he's not some delicate thing--_ all he winds up uttering is a stream of soft, _yes yes yes_ 's _,_ and he can't summon the strength to stop himself.

And then Arthur cants his hips at a different angle, and _god_ it has everything going from a dull sort of pleasure to _bursting stars_ , tingling, clenching, ice-cold shivering _heat_. His mouth falls open and his breath stutters. 

"Guh-- _goodness gracious_ , Arthur--!"

And the man above him chuckles knowingly, looking down to where they're connected, his broad hands gripping Albert's hips _and he's still rocking against him_ , his cock rubbing against that damnable bunch of nerves over and over and _over_ . Albert barely has the wherewithal to breathe, despite the slow pace, and _god, is this what Arthur feels like every time? Fuck,_ he's not going to be able to keep this up for long-- 

"Don't go finishin' yet, darlin'," Arthur interrupts his thoughts, slowing down. 

"Heavens above, _why the hell not_?" Albert grits out, meeting his eyes.

Arthur chuckles again, low in his throat and distractingly heated. "This's your first time, I don't want it to end so soon, Al."

Albert whines. "Arthur _please_."

Arthur bites his lip, fighting a fond smile. He leans down to kiss Albert tenderly, mouthing at his lower lip and slipping his tongue into his welcoming mouth. Albert tries his best to reciprocate, still riding the shaky high of Arthur being _inside_ of him, _right now, at this very moment_ , and he gasps a little as the thought crashes into him again.

"Stay with me there, Albert," Arthur says, and Albert whimpers. Leans up to kiss him again, seeking a distraction, _any distraction_ from the agonizingly slow drag of Arthur's cock against his prostate. Arthur pulls almost all the way out, groans against his lips, and adjusts his grip on the back if Albert's thigh. The photographer draws in a shaky breath as they part again, and Arthur leans down with a harsher thrust, mouthing Albert's throat and revelling in the soft, well-trimmed beard against his lips. 

Trails his lips lower, kissing as he goes.

Bites down _hard_ on the next thrust, and Albert almost _screams_ with the heady rush of pleasure. “ _God yes, yes Arthur,_ ” he gasps out with his back arching off the sweat-soaked sheets and his hips rolling to meet Arthur’s. 

Arthur bites his neck again, right below the last, worrying the flesh between his teeth and _savoring_ the high noise Albert makes while his blunted nails scrabble for purchase across his back. And _god_ it’s getting hard to hold his pace steady while Albert below him is _begging_ like this, mumbling half-coherent pleas and curses that sound like prayers, prayers with the inflection of curses. 

“Fuck, Albert,” he murmurs, and Albert replies with another whine, another half-sobbed, “ _Arthur,”_ and it’s all the stag can do to hold himself back from pounding erratically into the wet _heat_ that is Albert. 

_His Albert._

He shudders as his lips brush against Albert’s collarbone, and shuffles a little on his forearms to hold the man tighter, to press them chest to chest in a hug that the photographer is all too eager to reciprocate, wrapping his arms around his ribs and _gripping, scraping_ his nails into Arthur’s back. 

The next thrusts are shallow, awkwardly paced as they try to find a rhythm at this angle, but Albert really couldn’t care less. _God,_ he couldn’t care less because this was _Arthur_ who was _fucking_ him-- fucking _him and making absolutely sure he was enjoying it,_ and now he was _hugging him,_ and the tenderness in the action, the tenderness that Arthur was willing to show him was _too much, too much at once._ He didn’t _deserve_ to be shown such kindness, the total fool that he was, and yet-- here they are, _here he is_ and _here Arthur is,_ serendipitously together again for who knows how long, in each others’ embrace. It made his chest _tighten_ in a way that he knew was unrelated to the physical act of their intimacy-- this was... This was _love_. 

And in that moment, as Albert holds tight to the man above him, speeding his pace and making his insides _burn_ so deliciously, he holds on with his mouth working noiselessly and he _knows that this is what love feels like._

The tears roll down his cheeks in fat droplets and pool around the curves of his ears, catch in the place where his skin meets Arthur’s. 

And Arthur above him feels the moisture on his lips, mouthing at Albert’s cheekbone and knows that his photographer is crying. He halts immediately.

“Albert?” He says. Looks hard into Albert’s eyes.

The photographer whimpers at the loss of friction, and a second too late realizes that he’s _crying._ He turns his head away and brings a hand down to wipe hastily at the tears. “I-I-- I’m sorry Arthur, I, s-seem to’ve... Hah,” he stutters out a laugh, his voice shaky. “Seem to’ve caught myself up in my thoughts.” He won’t meet Arthur’s eyes. He’s blushing _hard_ , and he can’t seem to stop.

“Al, d’you need me to stop?”

“No! Please, no-- you-- I--”

“I ain’t hurt’n you am I?” Arthur asks, and Albert can’t help but laugh a little. Of _course_ he’s worried about hurting him.

“No, of course not. It’s just that--” he takes a deep breath, steadying himself, still shaky and still _high_ on Arthur. “--It... It happens.” 

He doesn’t know why he lies. 

Doesn’t want to admit it to the other man, doesn’t want to risk their... _Relationship,_ if one could call it that. Doesn’t want to risk Arthur thinking him a bigger fool than he already must. _Knows,_ deep down, that there’s no way in _hell_ , with both of their lives so different, that anything could come from that. 

Nothing good can come of Albert’s feelings. Nothing good, but he knows he loves Arthur all the same.

So he wipes his tears away and urges Arthur to keep going by pulling him down into a kiss. 

Arthur hesitates for a moment, but... He trusts Albert’s word. He leans into the man’s embrace and rolls his hips experimentally. Slides his tongue against Albert’s, feels the tickle of his beard against his lips, runs his thumb along the sweat-soaked skin at his temple. He wanted, _more than anything_ , for this to be good for him. Thrusts deep and moves a hand down to grip the soft flesh of his hip, to coax him upwards _just so._

Albert gasps against his lips and tightens his grip in Arthur’s hair, lets out another whine as Arthur repeats the motion, grinding _deeper, harder_ into him. Again. _Again. Again._

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck-- Arthur darling I’m close,_ I’m close _,”_ Albert pants, and Arthur only grunts, lowers his head to rest in the crook of his neck. _Redoubles his pace,_ panting now, holding tightly to his photographer’s hip-- his hot breath is ghosting across Albert’s skin, fingers fisted in the sheets behind his head, and _god_ , Albert’s whines are doing little to help him keep it together. 

“Arthur, _yes, yes just there-- ah, ah--!_ ” and Albert’s _arching_ off the mattress, the friction between them _too much,_ and Arthur’s cock is _milking_ his prostate on every thrust-- _he isn’t going to make it, he’s pushing him off an edge, he’s clenching and_ boneless _beneath him and his vision goes_ white _, his breath has stopped and his mouth is working uselessly._ A _release_ , some kind of _relief_ from the pressure that’s been building in him, and holy fuck it’s _blinding_. 

The photographer clenches hard around him, rigid under his embrace, and in the back of his mind Arthur thinks he hasn’t seen a more beautiful sight. He lifts himself from his forearm just long enough to see Albert’s eyes rolling back in his head, breath stuttering in his chest and legs trembling around him. Arthur lets out a shaky breath and tries to keep pace, tries to keep Albert stimulated through his orgasm but _christ_ it’s hard to keep from chasing the twisting of his insides, to pound away until he finishes buried inside the photographer. He still holds back, still needs to see him through his first time.

“C’mon, Al, you’re doin’ good,” he says, breathless, reaching between them for Albert’s cock and pumping the last of the jism to add to the mess that coats his stomach.

Albert gasps and jerks his hips up as soon as Arthur’s hand makes contact, and with all that’s transpired the stimulation is _too much, almost painful_ with Arthur’s length slowly grinding against his prostate and _he has to remember how to breathe for a second_ while he’s coming down from this _high._

“Y’alright?” Arthur whispers, his hand slick with semen and wrapped around Albert’s softening cock. He’s stopped his thrusts and simply waits, sheathed inside.

Albert breathes through his nose for a second before he has the wherewithal to answer. There are tears prickling the corners of his eyes again.

“Arthur, I think I just died.”

The stag chuckles lowly at that. “So it was good then?”

“To make an understatement, yes. I... I understand why you asked this of me the first time we were together,” he says, catching his breath. He brings a hand to his forehead. “And to think I was _missing out on this_ my entire life!”

Arthur hums, smiling. He places a kiss on Albert’s lips and makes to disentangle himself from the photographer, but Albert stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

He looks down to Arthur, still hard as he pulled out. “You didn’t finish..?”

Arthur looks embarrassed. “Well I didn’t-- finishin’ inside ain’t for everyone, it gets messy after. Didn’t wanna presume myself.”

Albert’s heart swells, because there’s that _tenderness_ again, that selfless sort of _kindness_ that Arthur entreats him to, wholly unexpected but somehow not the least bit surprising. He feels the tears threatening to drop again and he has to laugh a little as he runs his hand up from his shoulder to cup the stubble at his jaw.

“Oh, Arthur,” he whispers, and pulls the stag up for a lazy kiss. 

He runs a hand through his hair and they continue like that for a short time before Arthur makes a needy noise, parting from Albert slightly to draw out his tongue in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Albert takes the opportunity to trail a hand down his own chest, through the wet mess of cum still warm on his belly, and savors the sheer _licentiousness_ of the action. The _heat_ that pools in his gut has his soft cock twitching in interest again. He draws back for a second, just to see Arthur's face as he looks into his eyes and slides his slick hand around Arthur's cock.

Arthur _moans_ , jerks into the unexpectedly slick fist around his cock. How had he reached the lube from behind Arthur? Oh. _Oh_ , he thinks, looking down to the trail of mess on Albert's stomach, and he nearly nearly comes from the realization alone-- because _holy fuck_ if that's not hot as _hell_.

"God, Albert," he moans, _whines_ , and Albert tightens his grip and pumps, once, twice-- Arthur's thrusting into the heat with abandon, and the angle is awkward and Albert probably won't be able to keep it up long because _damn_ it hurts his wrist, but it looks like he doesn't need to. The way he twists his hand on the upstroke has Arthur _shaking_ , bucking into his fist and moaning, _sweating._ Albert’s all too happy to keep up for as long as he can while Arthur comes undone above him-- “Come on darling, that’s it,” he whispers, encouraging. “Come for me.” And that seems to do the trick, pushes the stag blindly over the edge-- Arthur lets out a high-pitched sound, his jaw set and eyes screwed shut, and _fuck,_ he’s coming _hard._

Albert pumps him through each _wave_ of his orgasm until he’s stilled the erratic jerk of his hips and the last spurts of cum are running down his fingers, soaking his palm, _hot_ on his stomach. His cock is almost hard again at the feeling, at the _sight_ of him. He grins and gives Arthur’s softening cock one more pass in his slick hand and Arthur grunts, oversensitive. 

“Fuck, Al,” Arthur says, somewhat hoarsely. 

“Are you alright?” Albert asks, tilting Arthur’s chin to meet his eyes.

Arthur flashes him a blissed-out grin. “‘Course. You?”

Albert mirrors the expression. “Dandy.” He places a chaste kiss on Arthur’s reddened lips. “I, ah... I may have stiffened up a little on that last go-around though, if I’m being quite honest.”

Arthur blinks, catching up slowly. “Goddamn, already?” He looks between them, where Albert’s legs are still parted around his, and sure enough, his cock is leaned to one side and _hard._ He looks back to Albert, wearing that _adorably_ sheepish grin on his face again, and moves up to kiss it off of him.

Albert makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat, but doesn’t move to push Arthur away, instead threading his left hand through his sweat-damp hair. He hums against his lips and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue languidly to meet Arthur’s and simply _revels_ in the sensation, in how _lucky_ he is to have met this man.

Arthur changes tactic after a few seconds, tiredly flicking the roof of Albert’s mouth with his tongue and pulling away with the smallest smirk. Albert gives him a questioning glance and Arthur shifts his weight back, gripping Albert’s right wrist, brings it to his lips. 

Albert’s eyes widen. 

He slips his tongue out to lick at the webbing between his index and middle finger where there’s still some of their combined spend slick on his skin, holding steady eye contact. Albert can’t bring himself to look away, to protest at how _filthy_ that must be because _god, if it isn’t pooling the heat directly to his cock_ . Arthur slides his tongue around the index finger, opening his mouth and swallowing it down, languidly, _lecherously,_ and Albert breathes hard through his parted lips. 

The stag bobs his head once, _twice_ around the finger and his eyelids flutter for a moment before he lets go with a quiet _pop,_ ignoring the salty musk on his tongue in favor of watching Albert watching _him_. The corners of his mouth turn up in a grin as he releases the second finger and moves to lick a stripe down the photographer’s palm, the salt of his sweat and their jism tingling on his tongue. He shifts again, lowers himself down Albert’s stomach and Albert realizes belatedly what he’s got in mind.

“A-Arthur you really don’t have to, I can take care of it m-- _ahh-- !_ ” He’s interrupted by Arthur, pointedly ignoring him and _swallowing up his cock_ . He clenches his thighs around his head, his control all but slipping, hand tightening in his hair. Arthur grunts, and his legs are parting wide again, rolling his hips into the _heat_ of Arthur’s mouth. “S--ah, _sorry_ dear, you sur-- _prised!--_ me is all,” his voice goes high for a moment as Arthur sucks _hard_ on his length. And then does it again. And again. _And again._

Albert all but _yells,_ Arthur-- damn him to hell, he _loves_ him for it-- sucks hard on every upstroke, careful not to scrape his teeth against the man and strokes whatever he can’t reach with his right hand. 

“Arthur, Arthur _please, please--,_ ” and Albert can’t even really tell what he’s begging for, it’s all going too fast. Please _what?_ Please stop, keep going? Go faster? _God,_ he isn’t sure if he wants to savor this or just orgasm _now,_ because he’s getting there, dangerously fast, and if Arthur doesn’t slow up, change pace, he’s going to come in his mouth, or heaven forbid his _eye_ if he pulls back too late _._

Arthur’s certainly not showing any signs of slowing-- quite contrarily, he’s no longer making a show of himself, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are cast downward, resting at the dark hair that curls around the base of Albert’s cock and looking for all the world like _Albert_ is his whole world. The photographer takes a split second to appreciate the fact that he’d never been on the wrong side of a gun around this man, for all the deadly _focus_ of his. 

Arthur’s bobbing his head, curling his tongue around the glans at every upstroke and training back his gag reflex to the best of his ability. The look of concentration on his face has Albert shaking-- well, a lot of things have him shaking at the moment but his cock positively _throbs_ at the look Arthur gives him, just a glance upward, his mouth stretched into a perfect _O_ around him-- Albert whines and bucks his hips up, and Arthur accommodates him with a low growl and _redoubling_ in pace, _how that’s even possible_ is over Albert’s head because he’s _close, oh so close-- “Arthur, Arthur I’m-- I’m coming, shit, shit--”_ And the stag doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even think about it.

Albert’s clenching around him again, thighs pressed to his ears as his semen shoots down the back of Arthur’s mouth, hot and so satisfyingly _filthy_ that it has Arthur moaning low in tandem with Albert, moving his tongue along the shaft and _sucking_ him down. He swallows every drop, and there’s less of it than his first orgasm that night but it’s no less _enjoyable._

Arthur’s _enjoying_ himself, there’s no mistaking it. Despite his fatigue, his languid movements. He thinks, distantly, that he wouldn’t mind doing this forever-- letting Albert take his pleasure from him with nothing in return, because more than anything, he wants his photographer to feel good. He wants to be good for him in every way he can, and the _feeling_ that thought invokes-- _pure,_ selfless, deep and melancholy, a little voyeuristic-- it tightens in his chest and warms his cheeks, threatens tears in his eyes. He thinks he could probably love this man, thinks he probably already _does_ , because nothing has ever felt like this with anyone else. He’s not quite sure what to do with the thought, the _feeling,_ as he feels Albert go still beneath him.

He pulls off him with a _pop_ , a string of spit connecting them for a moment before Arthur wipes away his mouth with the back of his hand. The urge to kiss his photographer silly is almost overwhelming, but he isn’t sure if Albert will mind the taste of himself on his tongue. 

Albert, meanwhile, has gone completely boneless, relaxed as completely as he could remember while he catches his breath in the second afterglow of the night. He finds the wherewithal after a moment to coax Arthur from between his legs to nestle him in the crook of his arm, turning on his side to intertwine his legs with Arthur’s. He places a few sloppy kisses on his temple and Arthur chuckles, his cheeks warm. 

“You silly fool,” he teases, and places a heartfelt kiss on the corner of Albert’s mouth. And another. And another. And another and another _and another_ , until the photographer is giggling and pecking at Arthur’s lips just as clumsily. They share a long kiss, Albert humming contentedly at the taste of himself on Arthur’s tongue, his swollen lips. 

They part with a smile mirrored on their faces, and Arthur nestles his head comfortably against Albert’s neck, wraps an arm around his ribs. Silly fools, the pair of them. 

He’s glad he has this, Albert’s warm body against his. This part is familiar. Comfortable.

Albert breaks the silence, stroking his hair. “Thank you, Arthur. You didn’t need to though.”

The man huffs. “‘M happy to.”

He really is.

The room is silent save their breathing. Albert drifts off after a few minutes, lulled by Arthur’s warmth, soothed by his presence. Arthur, despite his fatigue, stays awake and listens to the quiet sounds of the town just outside the window. 

Gradually, his thoughts drift back to the gang. Back to the trouble they’re running from. This _thing_ that they share... He knows it's not going to last. The quiet, nervous adoration that Albert regards him with, Arthur knows he can never reciprocate in any meaningful way. He knows the pain he's setting them both up for when he inevitably has to leave again. 

But just for now... He chooses to be _selfish_. To indulge in the saccharine sweet comfort that Albert softens his heart with. Shadowed by the knowledge of their impermanence, with all that was left unspoken between them, he nuzzles a little closer, holds him a little tighter.

And that night, as they lie in a small rented room, Valentine bustling about below them, he listens to Albert's heart pulsing beside him and lets the _love_ in his chest lull him to sleep. 

The man is too good for him, he knows. He loves him all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> google docs makes my paragraphs look a lot more substantial. anyway YEEHAW GAY RIGHTS  
> I'll be getting back to writing Heron Blue now, next chapter should be out soon-ish :)
> 
> Comments are, as always, greatly appreciated!


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